My Home
by TSRowenwood
Summary: Richard John Grayson has four different homes. One, the circus. Two, his home at Wayne Manor. Three, his 'extended family' that was created upon his arrival in the hero world. And four. That home is one that he has not told anyone about, and when he does choose to tell someone, he does it through writing.


**Okay, so this is a story that is semi-depressing, just so you know. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

**The other main character in this story is my own Original Character, and I felt the need to bring her in. I didn't originally intend to, but I started typing and her name flew from my fingertips onto the page. A little about her, she seems like she should be a child, but I have written that she is an adult. That is because at heart she will aldways be a child. And there is absolutely NO lovey-dovey stuff between her and Dick. They're just friends with a large age-gap between them. Like Bruce and Dick, although theirs is more like a father/brother/son relationship. So, basically, if you're ever reading a book and the name Ruby-Jane Elizabeth Colton-Xavier jumps out at you, you will know that I have officially become a real authoress and you will also have my secret identity worked out.**

**Weird little tidbit about this piece for those of you who actually read these Author's Note's: this started out as just the poem. In gym class. I'm thinking, 'Seriously?! The only period I DON'T have paper or a pencil in!' I had until the end of the next period to write the few lines I had done down. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.**

**And I did not help in the creation of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.**

* * *

Out of all the teachers at Gotham Academy, only one knew of Richard John Grayson's secret. Not a secret like that he was a total genius; that was a given. But it was the secret that the thirteen-year-old guarded the most:

That Richard John Grayson was Robin, the Boy Wonder.

The knowing English teacher's name was Ruby-Jane Elizabeth Colton-Xavier, and she absolutely hated that it was her name. It was far too long, she'd say. To those who were acquainted or friends with her, she simply went by R.J., and hardly ever stated her full name. To the others who didn't know her well, she was simply Miss Colton-Xavier.

When R.J. had met Dick, it had only been six or seven weeks since 'The Incident'. She had been shocked when Bruce Wayne called her and asked her to be a private tutor for Dick, with the understanding that Dick only knew the majority of the words in English. Sure, R.J. remembered seeing Bruce in school on occasion, and they had been paired as partners fairly often for projects, but that was as far as their relationship ever went. But she still took the job, refusing to be paid. R.J. got to know the boy very well, and while he learned English, she got to learn a little bit of Romani, and as such could talk to him in his native language when things were too hard for him to understand.

R.J. found out about Robin on her own. He had shown up about three-quarters of a year after she had taken the job of tutoring Dick, so she did think about the possibility, but then quickly dismissed it. She continued tutoring him through grade school and was ecstatic for him when he was able to skip two grades and came to Gotham Academy. R.J. frankly demanded to have him put in her class, and she was happy to find that on her student list for the coming year was his name.

However, she finally found out he was Robin his first year in Gotham Academy. Right before the school was attacked, Dick raised his hand and asked to go the bathroom. She said yes, of course, but he didn't come back before the classroom was taken and was being held hostage. After that, Robin came out of nowhere and saved the day. It was then that Miss Colton-Xavier made the connection that had been missing:

All of those moves were exactly the antics that she'd found Dick doing around Wayne Manor during their tutoring sessions.

So after the hostage situation R.J. asked Dick to stay after school for awhile and quietly asked him if he was Robin. He just grinned and said, "Of course not, Miss Colton-Xavier! Why would I be?"

'Because your family was murdered before your eyes and you wanted justice,' was the response that formed in her head. But she didn't say it out loud, because as she looked into his eyes, she could see that his real response was, 'Yes, I am Robin'. Miss Colton-Xavier didn't say anything. She just apologized for making him late in getting home, and they had a better understanding of each other:

Dick knew that R.J. knew that he was Robin, and R.J. knew that Dick knew that she knew that he was Robin, and neither one nor the other ever really acknowledged it. They only ever acknowledged it through writing, which was also how Dick found out that Miss Colton-Xavier was mulling over the idea in her head that Bruce Wayne was Batman. Still, Dick admitted nothing.

Other than that, things pretty much stayed the same between them.

Dick had his oddities, and R.J. was the only teacher in the whole school (let alone English) that tolerated his butchering of the English language. Then again, she was the only one who knew that he originally spoke Romani before his mother insisted on his learning _her _native language.

It was the beginning of Dick's eleventh grade year, and R.J. was excited to find out what Dick would pull on her this year. Every year he seemed to have a different theme. Fourth grade was Robin, the Boy Wonder, as it was his first real year working in the field. She couldn't remember fifth or sixth, but his seventh grade year he always managed to tie in Superman (his favorite SUPERHERO, as he informed her several times) to every single assignment she gave him. In tenth grade (as he had skipped eighth and ninth) he managed to slip in Batman (because Batman is his favorite HERO).

To the student's perspective, it was always a fun year when you had Miss Colton-Xavier as your English teacher. For one thing, she was in a wheel chair because her legs got twisted when she was born. For another, she had two last names (because she had been adopted) and that's just awesome. AND she had the most sarcastic sense of humor you'd ever heard (although that did come as a problem when Dick was learning English). She even had her own sign that read, "Sarcasm Sign", for whenever she was using actual sarcasm which was decorated very brightly, and a plain white piece of paper which was the "Not Sarcasm Sign" that was for when she wasn't using sarcasm, because her voice naturally had that sarcastic tone to it.

The class was also fun because Miss Colton-Xavier was predictable at the beginning of the school year. No matter what grade you were in, she always gave you a writing assignment that varied from year to year that was supposed to tell her a little about each child and how their writing style was. It wouldn't count on your grade, and you could write however, how much, or how little you liked.

It was the first day of school, and seventh period. R.J. loved teaching, but this was probably the worst class of the day. For one, she was exhausted and her arms had been given quite a workout from passing out papers and wheeling around the room. Seventh period also meant that the students were all riled up about what they were going to do once they got out of school.

And just to add to that factor, Dick Grayson was in her class.

Not that he was a bad student! On the contrary, he managed to keep within 'A' range, not always 'A+', but that's to be expected of him. He just . . . he just liked to see R.J. struggle for answers to ridiculously long questions so that by the time he finished the question you had absolutely no idea what his original train of thought was.

The kids were extremely loud as they came into the room and R.J. groaned, her hands quickly moving from the computer key-board to her temples. She forced a smile on her face and wheeled to the front of the room.

"Hello, my name is - " she stopped. They were all wrapped up in their own little conversations. R.J. rubbed her temple again. She tried a different approach. R.J. raised a hand into the air and noticed a few students looking her way. R.J. sewed her most diabolical grin on her face and said in a low, perfect Pirate of the Caribbean voice, "'Ello, poppet."

The students were all looking at her now, with faces that read, 'that was just weird'.

R.J. took the grin off her face and smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages," she spared a look at Dick, who to her disappointment didn't give a small smile at her like he normally did; he just kept looking at the desk he was sitting in. "My name is Miss Colton-Xavier, your English teacher for the year, but you all probably knew that already," That got a few chuckles from the room. "Now, before I begin to bore you with the classroom rules and disclosures, I have a role to call," and that got quite a few groans. R.J. laughed, making a few kids smile, as her laugh sounded like musical chimes. "Luckily, this year nobody has double names in this class, and let me assure you, this is by far my smallest class. Let's begin." She went back to her desk and then went _back _to the front of the classroom.

"Becky Anders."

"Here."

"Nickolas Bermuda."

"I go by Nick."

"Alright. Nick then." She continued down alphabet of students until she reached the G's.

"Richard Grayson."

There was no answer, and R.J. knew for a fact that he was there. "Richard?" His head stayed firmly bowed, eyes glued to his desk. R.J. sighed, she had never seen him so distracted before. "Dick."

His head snapped up, some of the kids snickering/giggling at his blank expression. "Aici."

R.J.'s eyebrow rose and she chided, "English, Dick."

He in turn sighed, "Here."

She rolled her eyes. "Well that's obvious."

R.J. continued down the list of students and then continued to tell them a bit about herself like why she was in a wheelchair, things she likes to do, and whatnot. She handed out the disclosures and then grinned.

"Now, I know what you're thinking, 'great, now we're going to get the assignment'. Well, I'm going to tell you this once." The kids leaned forwards. Maybe, just maybe, there wouldn't be a writing assignment at the beginning of the year. "You're right."

There was a collective groan.

"I know, I know. It's the beginning of the school year, but let me tell you. You go to Gotham Academy. This is a really great school, and you have to be hardworking in this class. This does _**not**_go on your grade, it just helps me get to know you. And I want you to WRITE it. When you turn it in tomorrow I do not want a bunch of papers that were printed out of a computer. I want to see your handwriting. Get out your notebooks."

There was a shuffle of papers and books as the students took out the writing notebooks that she had insisted each student needed to have.

"You're going to be writing about your homes for me. Now I don't want a hugely detailed paper all about every nook and cranny of your house. Think about it. Home can mean a couple of different things, and I expect to see varied papers about your 'homes'. The only expectation I have is that it has to be at least a paragraph. I don't want to see one sentence pieces of paper."

R.J. wheeled around the room, scanning papers and helping with little tiny matters of grammar and punctuation when she noticed. And then she went down the next aisle, stopping briefly at Dick.

His notebook was absolutely blank. Nothing on it at all, save for a few little doodles of trapeze artists in the corners and on the margins. She resisted the urge to smile.

"Dick." He looked up. "Would you stay after school for a moment to talk to me?"

"Of course, Miss Colton-Xavier," the teen tried to smile, but it broke half-way through and he looked back to his paper.

R.J. left his side, continuing around the room, but kept an eye on him. He never once picked up his pencil.

When the end of class neared, she cleared her throat. The children quieted down and looked over to her.

"Put up your chairs and then you're dismissed to go a little early." She smirked at their disbelieving expressions. "To get a head start. You'll turn in your papers at the end of class tomorrow!" she called as they all rushed to put up their chairs.

After they were all gone she went up to Dick and gestured for him to sit down the seat she had put beside her wheelchair. As he sat down she brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. "Dick, what's wrong? First you were speaking in Romani, and then you didn't write down anything. I would've thought you to be the first to start writing."

Dick rushed to assure her that nothing was going on. "There were just a few boys that started saying horrible things about the circus and how bad circus folk are. It kind of dampened down on my asterous feelings."

R.J. nodded. "That explains the obsessing of your desk and the Romani. Now what about the writing? I can see how that would dampen your creativeness a little, but that doesn't change the fact that you're almost always the first to start writing, even if it is nonsense," she grinned at him, and took note of his thoughtful expression.

"Well, I was sort of . . . stumped. I don't know which home to write about. I have four of them, you know."

"No, I didn't. I knew of two. Your real home at the circus, and with Bruce, of course."

He pulled a piece of rope out of his pocket and started making knots. "Well, yeah. But I have four, and I can't decide on which to write on. I have the circus, and as much as that would be cool to write on, I've already told you everything about it. I've also told you everything about living with Bruce and Alfred at Wayne Manor. Then there are . . . my aunts and uncles, in a sense. They're Bruce's colleagues, and I've come to know them as family, so they count as home." R.J. nodded, thinking of the Justice League. "But there's also a fourth . . . " He trails off, not finishing.

R.J. nudges him gently. "What's that one?"

"Something that I'd . . . " He trails off again. "It sort of has to do with my . . . other life." Robin, he means. "And, I guess . . . I could write on that one . . . . But you'd have to swear that you wouldn't read it to anyone. Not your family, not any of the students, not the administration, and NOT Bruce."

R.J. stared at him. Surely it couldn't be _**that**_ bad. But apparently it was, because his eyes were serious. "I promise, but if it gets really bad, I can't promise that I won't tell Bruce."

Dick let a small smile stitch onto his face. "I thought you'd say that." He stood up. "Do you need a ride home? Alfred's picking me up, so we could drop you off." He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, we have _**plenty **_of room in that car for a wheelchair."

His teacher shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. Huck and Juniper, my adopted siblings, are picking me up today. It was sweet of you to offer though."

He nodded, and then walked out of the classroom.

* * *

The next afternoon after seventh period R.J. went over the papers that had been passed in. She had been stunned, because Dick had seemed much more calm and like his own self. When she had questioned him, he said,

"The paper that you had us write. I never knew that letting out how I felt about that could make me feel . . . more . . . I don't know how to put it. It just felt good to let my feelings out."

She saved his for last, and when she got there, she thought that it was funny as she scanned the page. He had written his paper as a poem. And Dick almost never wrote poetry. Since she had met him, he had always steered clear of it. He said something about not being able to rhyme. But this was different. Not everything rhymed, and a few words jumped out at her as she scanned it. So she went back to the beginning and paid close attention to every word.

_My Home_

_by _

There was no name. In fact, the only thing that told her it was his writing was that he had Richard Grayson scrawled in the top right hand corner in pen. It told her that he didn't know what to think of his work. It wasn't necessarily Richard, Dick, or Robin talking.

_Death inviting,_

_Death enticing_

The first two lines made her blood run cold.

_Beckoning me to come._

_She chose me at a young age,_

_And a trap was set, my welcoming to begin._

_But She could not foresee one small factor:_

_My hesitation - bringing safety, terror, pain, and death,_

_But not for the intended._

_She swore She would not fail again_

_And months later when I did not perish by The Murderer's hand_

'Tony Zucco,' R.J. thought subconsciously.

_I saw Her face for the first true time._

_Another who had also cheated Her many times gave me the secrets of the Woman draped in black._

'That must be Bruce Wayne. Or Batman,' R.J. started rubbing the handle of her wheelchair.

_He said to me, 'She's the one who decides who must go and who must stay,_

_'The one who gives and takes away,_

_'The Woman who can be a friend or enemy, depending on how you look at Her.'_

_I go to see my family, and find Her at the cemetery_

_Watching me from afar, Her eyes seem to glare at me._

_But something hides in Her glowing orbs as well,_

_Something that speaks of a mother's touch,_

_Likes She longs to come and comfort me,_

_Shield me from the evil of the world forevermore._

_The man who helps me through all the death,_

_Makes me his partner, his heir, his son_

'Robin, Richard, Dick, to be specific,' R.J. thinks, seeing now why there was no name written. It was applicable to all of them.

_And through this the Woman in Black tries to take me away unceasingly._

_She tried again and again and again,_

_Then twisted in Two-Face as I turned ten._

R.J. remembered hearing about that. Robin had been kidnapped and was almost beaten to death by the villain.

_I nearly went to her that day,_

_But was saved by a Dark Knight in the end._

She remembered that, too. It was possibly the only picture that someone in the news line ever got of the Dark Knight and the Boy Wonder. It was Batman, holding an extremely battered Robin to his chest tightly as he practically ran to the Batmobile.

_Today in this wide world,_

_I still see her frequently._

_Mocking me from the sidelines,_

_When my friends and I meet._

_She stands behind them all, and gestures as if to say,_

_'You won't have them always, boy, _

_'And when that day comes, I shall finally have you in my grasp.'_

_I had a perilous mission awhile back._

_It almost cost me my life._

_She called to me as I lay not seeing,_

_But I forced myself to say, 'You may not today take my being._

_'I have work not done yet that must be finished,_

_'Knotted troubles to unravel,_

_'Places to be and to still be traveled.'_

_She left me in peace that dreadful day,_

_And agreed with me, _

_But She never forgets to remind me that I will one day be with Her._

_I stopped hoping she would ever go away that day,_

_Because she has somehow become a foundation for me._

_I look at her and remember,_

_'You are the key to my family.'_

R.J.'s hand flies to her mouth, suddenly knowing where Dick is going with this.

_Now when I see her, I smile and respond to her as a friend, saying,_

_'Yes, I have no doubt that I will go to you, someday._

_'But when that day comes, you will not have to worry._

_'I will not struggle, but go with you gladly.'_

_She smiles at me, and disappears,_

_Leaving hardly a trace._

_The point of this poem is not to strike fear,_

_Nor is it to be questioned, my dear._

_But the point is to notice,_

_That true home lies with your family._

_And while I love others here on this earth,_

_They could not replace those I have lost._

_So it comes to reason, my dear reader,_

_That Death is My Home, Now and Evermore_

* * *

When R.J. sees him next, she doesn't try to tell him that he's wrong, because she doesn't quite know how he feels. She herself had never known her parents, and as such doesn't know how he feels. They had died in a car crash when she was but three. Yet she still had an idea, since she had been present when her adoptive family's father and two youngest siblings were shot and killed.

So she simply asks him to stay after class again, and when he comes in, she pats the chair beside her.

When Dick sits down, R.J. doesn't say anything at all. She just hands him his poem, and after he rereads what he has written, he leans his head on her shoulder, and silent tears slip down his face while she rubs soothing circles on his back.

And now she knows why he truly became Robin, the Boy Wonder.

* * *

**And I leave you there to ponder on that last sentence, my readers. When I originally wrote it, I didn't know what I meant myself, but now I have an idea, but I will let you decide what it means.**

**Please leave your thoughts of how this one-shot was, it would be most helpful.**


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